


Selfish, Selfish, Love

by InAmongstTheMountains



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 10:49:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4260471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InAmongstTheMountains/pseuds/InAmongstTheMountains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all the worlds constants, there was none more than the inevitability of falling in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Selfish, Selfish, Love

Of all the worlds constants, there was none more than the inevitability of falling in love. 

Love was a danger, it could be easily twisted by greed, pride, or lust. It was problematic in that it often left more confusion and heartbreak in its place. It was illogical, incalculable, for no scholar, no priest, nor mage, nor god could comprehend the million subtle ways that love worked its emotional magic on the hearts and minds of all the people in Thedas. 

To one such as Fen’Harel, love was ultimately an intended mystery. There were greater things that concerned a mind such as his. Too many threads to connect, too many memories that needed sifting. Study, Duty, Promise, Enduring. Yet love liked to trail him, as a hunter follows his prey in the woods, he saw it in the People in their devotion to each other and to the pantheon. He saw it in the shem’s, who started and ceased great wars in its names. He saw it in the creations of the Children of the Stone, in their art, in their dedication towards perfection in craft. He even saw a spirit of love once, an aspect so rare that he could have sworn the Fade itself was playing tricks on the trickster. Almost.

As with many mysteries, the more one is surrounded by it, the greater the mind’s drive is to solve. But Fen’Harel wouldn’t have it. There was no mapping the pathways of love, there was no sense in the endless pursuit of understanding for it differed in every spirit and every dream he touched. Love was a tangible maelstrom of emotions that demanded all of ones energy, all of ones time, and left you with nothing new once it departed.

Or so he thought.

Time and physical distance had dampened much of what he was, much of the glorious hopes and plans he had once carried. Awakening there was panic, a foolish and irrational emotion. He acted impulsively, once more allowed feelings to cloud his judgement. The world once again paid the price. He would fix what little he could. Plan, prepare, follow through. Meet each challenge with surety. As self punishment, he chose to remind himself of his failings, he named himself Pride. He could rebuild what he broke, could continue what he had long since set in motion. Continue what he needed to do. No fools choices, no attachment.

Lavellan changed everything.

How odd was it to find another so sure of self, yet so unsure of future and purpose. There existed a kindredness from the moment he saw her. An indomitable spirit, one to rival his own. Surely he could allow himself such a bond? It was simple, clear and defined. Another reminder of what he owed the People. Yes, kindredness was a good place to be.

But then he began to see her greater power, not the Anchor, but the way she stepped into every day and every unknown with an open mind. She was different than anyone he’d ever met, although perhaps he had never quite allowed himself to look closer at another before. Was this respect? It surely must be. Respect was a fine emotion, still not attachment, still not irrational. He was still safe.

Perhaps he could blame his connection to the Fade, nay, his preference for the Beyond and the dreams and denizens within, for he was losing his edge when it came to the waking world. The reminders came upon him suddenly: In the flick of her wrist as she cast a spell, in the deep hues of her eyes while she listened and observed, in the old melody that she spoke with, not knowing she carried a tune across ages. Yet, these realizations could not be so bad could they? She wanted to learn, could see the world brimming with promise and stories. She was inquisitive, a good trait to match her title. These reminders kept him grounded, gave him appreciation for the world he wanted to restore, to the people he wanted to preserve. The wolf, confident in his own rational, ignored the signs; content in his pride.

Familiarity however, tends to breed affection, and a god was no exception to this rule. Lavellan listened, more than that, she took in all of you. But it was done without judgement, with a willingness to set aside preconceived notions for new ideas. He could share with her, in a way so exquisite, so, dare he call it, intimate, that his eagerness drowned the warning bells. He was falling for her, tumbling into that tumultuous maze of irrationality and foolish emotion with every step she took, with every blessed breath, with every challenge she rose to meet. He began to find distraction in her lips, her graceful fingers, the proud sweep of her ears. Everything, everything! How could she be real? How could such a dream exist and walk unsullied in the woken world with all its ugliness, its vanity, its taint?

Then she kissed him. 

And nothing was the same anymore.

The kiss stirred a temperament within him that he had not known before. It opened exploration into a realm that he knew was unchartable. The kiss made him weak with its memory, shook him to the core. He found his lofty goals and his dedicated guilt intrinsically bound to unraveling the confusion and unknowing he’d fallen into. The wolf was in a trap of his own doing.

Every time he saw her, with each passing glance, each tender touch, he had to hide the battle of his own raging natures. It would break him to break her, to move on, endure alone. But the same would happen should he sunder himself from the past, to complete his metamorphosis. She loved him as his Pride, Lavellan held a deep respect for all that he was even if she couldn’t see the whole. He could not give her any less than was her worth and her equal, to throw aside his burdens would be an insult to the monumental spirit she possessed, and he could not care for that which he’d become. That would be selfish. 

But could he tell her the truth? Could he believe in his own strength should she deny him, or worse, deny the vision he had of her? Would that be easier? Let her fear let her revile him? No. The very idea made him sick. He had acted on emotion before, and it had cost him everything. He loved her, how could he abandoned this, even with its irrationality? Why couldn’t he just be selfish, just give her everything as she would give him? There had to be a way to solve this, a way to sever himself from the foolish love he had become entwined in.

So he lied, to break them. To save them. To lie to himself.

But she didn’t hate him, even as he watched her heart fall, she could only question with the same open questioning that defined her as a wonder beyond all else. Why?

All he had for her was an apology, empty, resounding. 

Maybe she would understand some day, but for now, there would be no more tenderness between them.

The Dread Wolf had hoped to be free again, to return wholeheartedly to his duty. 

Instead he lost his pack.

And kept his selfish, selfish, love.


End file.
